A spellbook for sherlock
by sherlockedbookkitten
Summary: After the battle of Hogwarts, john watson is emotionally too scarred to live in the wizarding world. He fakes his suicide, and everyone is fooled except his eccentric best friend, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock hunts him down but john is still too scarred to return to the wizarding world, so sherlock joins him, solving crimes in muggle london. Some Johnlock. Adlock in the past.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, so I'm new to fanfiction and writing, but I love Sherlock and harry potter and I hope you like the story! Also, I own neither.**

Sherlock Holmes did not want to go back to the place where he had spent so many years bored out of his mind. The strange, sprawling castle hid no secrets to him, and the corridors seemed dusty and stiff to the eccentric wizard. Even the Ravenclaw tower seemed too bookish, as if all the memories he had spent reading those dusty volumes had taken its toll on the old spire. The great library was empty, and Sherlock could still hear the echoes of children studying between these wooden bookshelves. He wandered over to the restricted section, and pulled down a volume chained to an iron bookshelf, fingering the faded cover. He had spent many an hour pouring over this volume, while it sat ignored by the other children. " _Sherlock, you must have read that book a thousand times,"_ He closed his eyes and treasured the memory, remembering when life had been so simple.

 _Winter, 1996_

" _honestly, you could even out read Hermione." Sherlock turned into the young face of his best friend, eagerly waiting for Sherlock to put the book away, dressed in his colorful quidditch robes. "The match starts in a few minutes, and it would be great to see you in the stands." Sherlock bit his lip and sighed, wishing he could bring the book. He would never miss watching his best friend fly, but he secretly found the sport dull and uninteresting. Looking into john's happy face though, he couldn't say no. "I'll be there in a few," he said with a sigh._ _That day had been one of the best days of his life, one of the kind of days where you can just hear the snow ringing out into the cold air, shining with the brightness of a thousand diamonds packed into a single crystal. Sherlock had wished the day would never end, and the approaching yule ball had nothing to do with it. The other children had laughed, thrown snowballs and played on the icy lake while john and Sherlock had studied and talked about the simplest things. That was before the battle, before the world had crumbled a round his feet. Just budding six years, John had been interested in girls and Sherlock in his studies. However, they still found time to talk, and had kept their friendship happy and full of wonder. They were oblivious to the fact that the golden trio had been whispering lately, and that umbridge had almost destroyed the proper rule system at Hogwarts. No, they were oblivious six years, and the world held no meaning to Sherlock and even less to John_.

 _Present day_

Sherlock put the book back on its shelf and sighed. It had felt good to lose himself in the memory, but there was work to be done. If he could read the library in his first year, then there shouldn't be much more to read. He headed back to the great hall to meet up with McGonagall.

She was waiting patiently, her hair plastered to the nape of her neck. The years had taken their toll since he had last seen her, but she still looked like she could hold her own. "Sherlock," she said with a sigh. "it's been a while." Sherlock nodded, and upon feeling the coolness in her voice, responded, "too long, professor." Mcgonagall, instead of responding, began to walk, flourishing her wand, conjuring images of the last battle that had been held here. He saw Lavender, facedown on the ground. He saw Remus, hand in hand with Tonks. He saw people that he had known, shared experiences, quarreled with, and then he saw John. He was sitting at a table, staring at his wand. When he looked up, his eyes were dull, those of someone who has seen terrible things. "Sherlock," he whispered. "never again. i will never again live this life." sherlock saw him stand up, break his wand forcefully, and walk out of the great hall like someone who is in a trance. t was later presumed that the young student had committed suicide. That was the last time he ever saw his John, and he would forever wish he had told him how much hew valued his friendship.

Sherlock shook his head and kept moving after the spry headmistress. He had almost let himself be lost again to the memories. He really needed to work on that. Sherlock sighed and caught up to the quickly moving headmistress, who had suddenly stopped. "You may be wondering why i have called you here today," she says with a knowing look. well, mr. Holmes, it is a very good reason. You remember, how we never found the body of your young healer friend? Well, we have now found it." she said with a knowing look. Sherlock was unable to understand what the witch was implying. "Where did they take the body?" he asks, his voice cracking. "well, sherlock," she says with a smile. "That's the best part. You see, it was delivered to a certain Saint Bart's morgue in muggle London. Look for a Miss hooper and she can point you in the right direction." Sherlock felt dizzy. It would be a huge personal confrontation, but he had to see the body of his best friend. "I'll be there in the morning," he told the professor breathlessly.


	2. Chapter 2

John Watson pulled off his gloves, and set them down firmly by his stethoscope. It had been a tiring day at the office, but it was worth it to know that he was doing good in the world. He had become a doctor to remind him of the people he couldn't save, and as a reminder that he could save people. His first years out of Hogwarts had been the hardest, struggling to find work and comfort his mother, who had lost his father in a car crash. He had eventually befriended a girl called Molly, who helped him find work here. He was forever in her debt and took her out to coffee every Monday. John stood up and gathered his things, taking care to move around the puddle of blood on the floor. He did work in an experimental morgue, and he was not too happy with the cleaning people lately.

Molly stuck her head in the doorframe, her oversized colorful scarf hanging off her shoulders. "You ready for coffee?" she asked, her lab coat sporting spots of blood. John looked up and smiled. "yeah, let me finish cleaning up this experiment. One of my patients had an infection, and I was seeing if it was that exploding candy that he ate." He said with a smile. Molly was always ready to listen, unlike his past friends. Like Sherlock, for instance. He would always- "John?" Molly asked carefully. "Are you alright?" John shook his head, attempting to clear the ever-present memories of Sherlock. "yeah, just memories of the war," he said with a shrug. "haunting faces, dead friends, the whole shebang." Molly's expression softened. She was always caring, and though John had no feelings for her, he still felt a brotherly compassion at seeing her worried about other people. Molly was always ready to welcome people with an open heart, but her people skills weren't the best around new faces. "say, john, do you need to talk about it? If so, I'm here. I also deal with the families of passed people, and they say the military was like a family." She says with a caring smile. John looked at her, and though he had never told anyone about the war, maybe it was time to open up. He wouldn't tell her everything, just what details he could alter so she wouldn't be suspicious.

"I had a lot of friends in the army, you know. Mike Stamford, comes in here sometimes, served with me. But I had closer friends, too. Some stayed there, teaching at schools in Afghanistan. Some didn't make it out of the battlefield. But nevertheless, the ones who made it never came to muggle- I mean London. It was too hard to face their families after they had been through all of that. I have a few friends who even became famous. Ever heard of Harry Potter? He was famous during the war, an activist, the face of the revolution. He could make the worst kind of people on the other side see the light and stop firing. He was a master. Hermione granger. She was something. She read the entire school- army, I mean, library. Ron Weasly. Granger's boyfriend. Loyal, kind, and made it out of the friend zone. And then there was Sherlock." John's voice softened, and Molly took his hand in a sisterly way. "What happened to Sherlock?" she asked. John looked at her, tears shimmering in his eyes. "Oh, he's alive, I think. The best friend that ever was. He and I were inseparable. He helped me find my first 'gun'. He was the most sarcastic, anti-social genius that ever was. I miss him so much." John was choking back a sob now, and Molly was biting her lip, puzzled. "John, whatever is keeping you from going back to your friends isn't worth it. I'm sure they would be delighted to see you, and they wouldn't at all be disappointed in you." John looked at her sadly. "That's not the problem," he said, tears streaking his face. "They don't know I'm alive."

Molly gaped at her colleague in surprise. Whatever she had expected, it was not this. Her colleague, always so levelheaded and prepared, was not-could not-have faked his own death. However, she needed to be there and cater to whatever whimsical story he had made up. If this was his way of coping with the memories, that was okay. He didn't seem like the eccentric type, but Molly knew to look past the pooh bear demeanor. He needed a friend, and she would be there for him.

"tell me about that," she said softly. John looked at her, relief showing in his eyes. "You really want me to keep going?" Molly sighed and looked him in the eyes. "John, I am your friend, and if it makes you feel better to talk, then hit me." John smiled at her and continued.

"well, war does some pretty horrible things to you. It can twist and play with your brain. That's what I believed happened there, with my fake suicide. I had just seen 50 of my closest friends murdered, and I couldn't live with that. So I decided to go. I stood up, told Sherlock that I couldn't live this life anymore, broke my gun, and jumped from a bridge in the chasm. I could hear Sherlock calling my name, but I didn't respond. They had to think I was dead so i wouldn't have to keep fighting. I hear Sherlock was devastated though, and I am guilty, but I couldn't keep living that way, away from people and concealing who we were. I can't be that person anymore, and I do not regret my decision."

Molly had so many questions, but she couldn't pick one. So she decided to go with the one that would help him the most. "Why did you think they would make you hide who you are? Last I heard the army doesn't do that." John looked at her, his guard up now. "Well you see, it wasn't the army, exactly. Not the modern day army at least. It was a resistance, against people who wanted to take our identities and wipe us off the face of the earth. They were ruled by the dictator, he who must not be named. Other than that, I am not at liberty to say."

Molly bit her lip and tried to keep the question swirling in her mind at bay. Why was he pretending? Where had he really fought? Had she hired a madman? Before she had a chance to talk, a pleasant voice came on the intercom. "Man to see Molly Hooper. Miss hooper, report to front desk immediately."


	3. Chapter 3

**hey readers, what's up? I know this is way early but I got bored. :)**

Sherlock stood impatiently by the front desk at St. Bart's. Was he really ready to see the body of his best friend, who's death had been his fault? He should have shielded John from the violence, knowing it would hurt him. Now he would face the pain, embrace it, and acknowledge that John was truly dead. Even though the body had been recovered, a glimmer of hope shone inside him, saying, "No, Sherlock. He can't be dead. Only madmen jump of bridges. John is not a madman. He would have known better." It was impossible though, and as much as Sherlock wanted it to be true, it wasn't, and he would have to live with that. The memory was far too vivid, and he would have needed to grasp the underside of the bridge or perform an accio charm, and Sherlock saw neither. Yes, john was dead, and the corpse proved it. _The corpse._ Somehow if he thought of it as a body, not an aging, rotting, dead-skinned corpse, the reality didn't set in as hard. That's what it would be now, though, an aging, rotting corpse. He couldn't bear to think of the lively john as a still skeleton. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the young woman's voice approaching him. "excuse me, sir? How may I help you? I'm Molly Hooper." Sherlock looked over the woman before him in the way one looks at a specimen. Not in a relationship, works with dead bodies, caring, good friend, loyal, and bright. Oh, and physically attracted to him. That part he was not interested in. "Yes, Miss Hooper, I'm here to see a body."

As the woman led the way down the hallway, Sherlock looked around the hospital. How he hated hospitals. So clean, always smelling like someone had spilled a ton of tide through the hallways. Still on the outside, but in each of the little rooms, turmoil could be happening and no one would know by looking at it. The similarity to his mind was uncanny. Molly, as she was called, knew her way around. She turned a corner and went down hallway after hallway. He caught up to her, walking in the same stride. "I'm so sorry to bother you from your coffee. It must have been very emotional." He says in sympathy. She turned and gaped at him. "how did you know?" she whispered. He smiled and stuck out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Pleased to meet you." He watched as her eyes went wider. "you're-" He shook his head and smiled. "I'm just a detective." He said with a sigh. She shook her head, eyes wide. "I thought he was lying." Sherlock slowed and looked at her. "who? Mycroft? Harry? Hermione?" Her eyes went even wider if that was possible. She looked like a surprised owl. "They're real too?" Sherlock frowned at her, trying to figure out what was going on in her head. She was obviously very surprised, and facing something that she didn't want to let on. "am I crazy?" she whispered. Sherlock shook his head at her, and sighed. "Now, where is the morgue?"

John was thinking about what Molly had said. Should he really contact Sherlock? IF he did, how would the eccentric student react? John shook his head. He had to remember, they were both grown men now. Sherlock probably had a wife some kids. Maybe he had married the equally eccentric Irene Adler. Now those would be some kids. John smiled at the thought. No, he wouldn't intrude. They were probably all happy, and they wouldn't need the stress of him coming back from the dead. It was more courteous this way.

Sherlock followed a breathless Molly into the morgue. She gestured to the bodies and sat down while her head kept spinning. Sherlock moved carefully through the corpses, wary of which one could be John. He looked at tall men, heads split open. He looked at a few women, with wisps of honey colored hair around their still features. No John. He turned to Molly, but before he could get a word out, she said, "Excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to. It would appear that my colleague is not crazy." Sherlock turned back to the corpses and closed his mouth. He would find John on his own.

Molly was gasping, her hands shaking. Her mind felt like I would explode with questions. Had john not been lying? Was Sherlock real? What war had he fought in? Who was Sherlock here to look at? Could it be… John? She tried to dismiss the thought from her mind, but it stayed. Could it be true? She raced back to John's office, and burst through the door. He stood up, worry in his eyes. "Molly? Is everything okay? Jesus," he says worriedly. Molly, meanwhile, was a puddle of disbelief on the floor. "There's someone, I want you to meet," she says breathlessly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, this is the chapter where john and Sherlock meet. Hope you enjoy it! :) I know the last one was super short, but this one should be longer.** **J** **I'm so sorry this one took so long. My computer was being a complete idiot, and whenever I would type, it would delete whatever I just wrote.**

John stared at Molly, and bit his lip. She was really worked up, and if going with her would calm her down. He nodded and helped her up. She was panting and her eyes were stretched wide. "John," she said, fear in her voice. " I think I'm going crazy." John helped her up and smiled at her, wishing he could just go home and turn on the telly. Molly stumbled down the corridor to the morgue, stopping in front of the doorway before going in. She turned and looked at him. "if you can't see him, I'm crazy. Tell me if you can see him. And if you can, be prepared." She then took a deep breath and plunged through the doorway, hands shaking and head spinning. John was left in the corridor to ponder his thoughts. Who did Molly want him to meet? And what did she mean, 'if you can see him?' he decided to get it over with. He took a deep breath and stepped into the morgue.

Sherlock was in the middle of the morgue, surrounded by corpses, none of them john. He was about to go find Molly when she stepped into the room, still flustered. "molly, the corpse I am looking for is John Watson. He died in 1998, and I need to see his body, as he is not in this compound." He said, without turning around. He heard a small thump and a man entered the compound. As Sherlock turned around he became aware of several things.

1\. Molly was grasping the doorframe, panting

2\. There was a man helping her up

3\. That man was John Watson

(((O))))

Sherlock thought he was dreaming. This man before him was dead, a cold corpse under a bridge. He knew it was impossible, but the man before him was alive and breathing, almost like he had never jumped off a bridge to his death. Sherlock knew this man would never emotionally scar his friends like this, but it was impossible to see around it. Sherlock's mind was in turmoil, and as usual, the memories took over.

 _Sherlock was sitting under a tree, reading a heavy book. It was boring, and the day was cold, and he would give anything to be out in the forbidden forest, or hunting beasts with John. Unfortunately, he was banned from the forbidden forest, and John was off roaming the corridors with his newest girlfriend. Sarah was beautiful, but exceptionally ignorant in the ways of the world. She had actually asked Sherlock if it was possible for the victim to have done it. She was too dumb to keep around, but john liked her, and he couldn't do with that, so John had left the equation. So Sherlock had to actually do his homework. Mycroft would be thrilled. He thought about heading to the library to break into the restricted section, but without John it would be no fun. In fact, nothing would be fun without John. Not even a good murder would cheer him up right now. The snow dancing in his eyes blocked him from the approaching figure, but the flash of dark hair was impossible to miss, and Sherlock winced as he heard the clicking of heels against the cold stone. "Miss Adler," he said, well aware of her flirtatious gaze on his face. "Mister Holmes," she replied, mouth smirking into a small smile. She bent down and leaned her back against the tree next to him, the customary 8 inches away, while he scooted further and further from her advances. She continued to flirt with him, and he tried to dodge her attempts as best he could, but when she finally came out and said what was on both their minds, he wished she could have waited a bit longer. "Do you know why, when I could have practically anyone in this school, I choose to spend time with you? It's not because you're particularly handsome or anything like that. It's because I made a promise to your parents. I said that as long as Sherlock Holmes is rude, and insufferable, that I shall keep him away from all that want to break his heart. But I'm afraid I missed someone. I've seen the way you look at John Watson. And the way he doesn't look at you. You know nothing about this, so take my advice. Stay away from John Watson." she finally let him go and watched him stride across the courtyard. Though he had given up on Irene a few years ago, he hadn't given up on John. Was that why, when reminded of how he'd at first felt for Irene, he felt the same pain in his chest as when he looked at John with Sarah?_

John gaped at the tall figure standing impossibly still. His memories of Sherlock were all of him being an asshole, but with the genius quality that he couldn't ignore, and the highlights of their friendship. Even years later, he still had that incredible energy, like he was going to jump up and spin you around and take you on the most exciting ride of your life. His eyes were alive, darting around, sweeping the room for an explanation as to why the seemingly dead version of his best friend was standing in front of him, shocked and apprehensive. He finally watched as Sherlock's frantic eyes came to a stop, looking into his own. His hands were shaking, and the happy man john had seen so often back at school was missing, replaced by a desperate genius reaching for an answer.

At last, he uttered a single word, broken, surrendered, and without an explanation.

"Why?'

As John looked at him, the panic, and the fear of the first few months came rushing back, along with the horrible sense that he had betrayed everyone. It came down again, partly because he was about to crack under the mental strain of seeing if Sherlock was alright, and partly because the knowledge of what he had done to his best friend, the fear, the uncertainty in his eyes, and the way he stood far away from him weighed on him, like a ton of bricks tumbling on top of him, and crushing his life force.

"I couldn't do it anymore. But I would take it back, with every ounce in my body. It wasn't fair what I did to you, and I wasn't thinking about the consequences. I wanted to go back. But I thought you'd be happier without me."

Sherlock watched the remorse and guilt flash over his former friend's face, and saw how heavily the world had come down on him. He saw the sadness, the pain, the unknowing. And he forgave. Whatever the world had done to them both, it was clear they needed each other more than ever. So in two long, forever-lasting steps he crossed the room to John and patted him on the back quite awkwardly.

John didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Sherlock had never known the right moment for the right action, except in his crime-solving fantasy. Still, the touch of his hand on his back felt better than any hug or kiss from anyone in the world. Without a sound, he buried his head in Sherlock's chest, and felt them both ease into the first physical contact in years.

 **So yeah, that's that. Sorry again it took me a while to update, but this was a tricky one on top of schoolwork. Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Chapter 5

Molly felt an undeniable warmth in her chest. Watching the two friends reunite after years parted left a fuzzy feeling, like after watching a romanticized movie. She knew that they were perfect for each other, and wondered when they would realize it themselves. She had seen how happy Sherlock made John, and how the missing piece in his life had finally been filled. She was still incredibly confused, however, and she had no explanation to the weird events that had filled the morgue, and wished she could have a bit more explanations to the war and his former suppressed life in the army. She decided to let them have a moment, so she stepped out into the hallway, and tried to catch her breath from the strange events. A nurse walking down the hallway looked into her eyes and tried to make sure she was alright, but she had already nodded and closed her eyes, leaning against the wall, providing a strong contrast to the milky white chipping paint behind her. She sighed and listened carefully for the sound of words behind the strong door.

Sherlock felt a serenity that had been missing from his life for the past 16 years. His last few moments with John had returned him to the happy feeling he had missed so heavily. John still had that steady, calm, and grounding presence that had always seemed to jerk him back to the present by just being in the same room. He could already feel the missed years filling in the space, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to that grim day, and hold on to John and never let him go. The silence was choking them, taking over the perfect moment that had just passed through the room, and he realized how much they had both grown up in the missing years. John's hair was shorter than he'd formerly worn it, and his smile had grown smaller. They would make up for the years, but for now the time was still filling up the space between them, reminding them of all the things they didn't know about each other.

The coarse fabric on the front of Mycroft's suit left a burning sensation as he rubbed his hands nervously down the expensive façade. He was nervous for a few reasons, the prime one being his younger brother. During his years at the Ministry, he had found his high-ranking job was nothing compared to rearing in his youngest sibling. He knew that they had located John, and that Sherlock thought he was deceased, and with every text alert that chimed on his muggle cell, he worried that something had gone wrong, and that Sherlock had lost his mind and had made some terrible mistake. He had been surprised himself when he discovered the young healer had resurfaced, and when he wasn't dead. Eventually he gave in to temptation, and reached for his wand to send patrounous to Anthea, asking her for information on his sibling.

At last John pulled out of Sherlock's embrace, hair sticking up at the back. He already missed his friend's warmth, but he had to ask a few questions first.

"Who told you I was here? I didn't know the ministry kept tags on people."

Sherlock sighed, and tried to answer as best he could. "They told me your body was here. A clever setup, with Mconagall's fingerprints all over it. She sent me here, and ordered me to face my fear of seeing you dead."

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't know. It's alright."

John looked up into Sherlock's eyes tiredly, overflowing with apology. He hadn't realized that Sherlock could be so forgiving at the drop of a hat. He briefly wondered why, but Sherlock had always been willing to go the extra mile for him, doing whatever he needed without a word.


End file.
